Sandglass II: Davos
by AnxietyGrrl
Summary: Season 7 fic. "Take it from an old man who's seen more than his share of storms. When the night is long, what matters is who we carry with us when we close our eyes." Davos's perspective on Jon, Daenerys, and the events of "Beyond the Wall."


The King in the North was lost.

_Damn fool boy_, Davos thought. He looked up at the man beside him and said, "Here we are again."

"And no red woman this time. Just a little white queen." Though he said it with no small amount of awe.

"You don't know her. She might be enough to bring him back, if there's half a breath left in him. You were out there. Is there any chance?"

Giantsbane's stare told him hope was for Southerners and fools. "There's a chance I'll fuck your mother on the Iron Throne."

"My mother's been dead twenty years."

"Didn't say I'd enjoy it."

Davos went alongside Tormund as he walked the battlements, making sure each lookout was well-positioned and well-armed. He craned his neck to look up at the Wall, the dizzying scale of it no longer as reassuring as it once had been. The two dragons perched atop it, though, still inspired awe, vulnerable though he now knew them to be. They tucked their heads close to each other, whether for warmth or for solace, and the black one wrapped one great wing around his brother. Below them, but above the men, Daenerys Targaryen stood behind a parapet. She saw him, and he raised his hand to acknowledge her.

"What will she do now?" Tormund asked.

"She'll fight with us," Davos replied. "She has no choice." Daenerys disappeared from view, and one of the dragons-he couldn't tell the damn things apart, except now one was enormous and terrifying and one was slightly less enormous-screamed and took flight beyond the wall, searching for its lost brother.

* * *

He saw to preparing the return voyage, and, though he knew better, took his time about it. Not for miracles or prophecies, he still didn't sit comfortable with those, but for the same hard-scrabble, stubborn hope that had kept him baking and battered but alive on that rock in the Blackwater Bay. He'd had no reason to live, but he'd had no will to die. Jon Snow had a reason, the most important reason of anyone in the Seven Kingdoms, but he hadn't always had the will-Davos had watched it come back to him, since the day he'd caught him as he was delivered from death's own rotten womb; to the day he charged the fields of Winterfell like he was flinging himself back into the grave, only to claw his way out again; to the day they'd sailed from Dragonstone and the king stood on the deck until the last spire of that ugly old castle disappeared from view.

Jorah Mormont had noticed that as well, but Davos wasn't going to involve himself in all of that.

The first night out there were high swells from a storm further offshore. Though he was stoical about it, truth be told the King in the North was not what you'd call a natural sailor, and Davos had chuckled as he'd watched him shove a plate of salt cod and potatoes away from him with a grimace.

"Quit laughing at me."

"Apologies, Your Grace," he said as he tucked into his own victuals.

"I miss Dragonstone. When I was stuck there, at least it wasn't rolling under my feet."

"Hm. So it's Dragonstone that you miss, is it?"

"Dragonstone is a nice bit of land."

"Aye," he nodded. "It's quite an impressive, fierce, beautiful..._good hearted_…bit of land."

Jon grimaced again, for a different reason. "I told you-"

"There's no time for that, aye, I know. No time for much of anything, these days." He poured a splash of ale into each of their cups. "So busy surviving there's no time for living. And that's probably the right way of it." The ship rolled again and the lantern guttered, throwing shadows on the young king's face. "But if I may give you a piece of advice, Your Grace…"

"I believe that is why I keep you around. Advise, advisor."

Davos thought on his words. "You're fighting for your people, your home, your family," he started. "Hell, for the whole bloody human race. And that's right, that's just." He wavered a moment over whether to continue, and then barreled through. "But it can never hurt to have one more thing to fight for. Something just for yourself. Something to keep you alive," he tapped his chest, "in here."

The King accepted his words with silent understanding. "Take it from an old man who's seen more than his share of storms. When the night is long, what matters is who we carry with us when we close our eyes."

* * *

Now, they were loading that same ship with a manifest of nightmare cargo and a diminished, exhausted supply of men, including one Gendry Waters, the brave, bullheaded lad whose collapse back at the gates of Eastwatch had turned the ball of ice in Davos's gut to an avalanche. After seeing the raven off, he'd huddled with him by the fire as the boy shook and sipped gruel, then finally slept, nothing to do but feel useless and wait. He'd clapped his back and said, "You've repaid me, lad. A hundred times over."

Then he'd felt the whole shabby fortress shake and run outside to see two stamping dragons, a grief-dazed queen, and four staggering, haunted men. Only two dragons. Only four men.

There was only one more task he was obliged before they had no choice but to set sail.

He found her on the parapet again. "Your Majesty Queen Daenerys."

His voice startled her. He saw her wipe her face as he rose from a deep bow. "Ser Davos. When do we depart?"

"As soon as the ship is loaded." He glanced at Ser Jorah, then back at her. "A moment, if I may?" She nodded, and Mormont stepped away to pace the ramparts. "You're not bound to travel with us, Your Grace. If you'd rather fly, that is."

"I believe I am, Ser." She smiled sadly, and for moment she wasn't one of Shireen's storybook legends come to life, but a girl. "And I've had enough flying for today."

He nodded, hesitated, and then took two steps toward her. "I...lost my own son at Blackwater Bay." He hadn't planned to say it, but he felt pressed to, so he continued. "And a young girl I loved like my own…" The memory choked him, and he gathered himself before he could meet her wide, knowing gaze again.

"I know that Viserion was not like a human child..."

He shook his head. "That's not- I only meant to share your grief, my lady." She let the lack of honorific slip by on the rough-edged tenderness of his voice.

"Thank you." She laid a hand on his arm. "I know that you do share it, Ser."

"It is a terrible thing-" he twisted his head, and his next words were strained, but he spoke them anyway, as if she pulled them out of him with her touch. "A terrible thing when something beautiful is lost from this world."

"The death of hope," she said. Her voice cracked like ice. How he hated this gods-forsaken place.

"No, Your Grace, we mustn't speak that way. There's still a war to win."

She squeezed his hand in affirmation and resolve. "And we shall."

"I only wanted-" He halted, struggling with whether to continue, feeling foolish and reckless, but stumbling onward nonetheless. "Your Grace. I've served two kings. Two very different men. And I've loved them both, in their way. One demanded my loyalty, and I gave it. One never asked for my service; I gave it freely. Never expected or was owed my love; I give it still. And there's a duty to love that stands apart from propriety. So, then… I only mean to tell you, so you should know…" Something in her eyes pleaded with him not to continue, but he did it anyway. What did it matter, if they were all damned? "You ought to know, if the fates were reversed…

The heart in question would break the same."

She closed her eyes and took one shuddering breath, and before he could stagger backward with regret, she shocked him with an embrace. He put his arms around the Mother of Dragons, and patted her back like a nuncle with a babe.

* * *

"Damn fool boy," he muttered as he carried the King to his cabin, and stripped his frozen and sodden clothes. "Damn fool boy," as he scrubbed the saltwater from his own face. He didn't even see her standing there until the braziers were lit and the furs were all piled, and they were well and truly underway. He dragged a chair beside the bed, and she started to withdraw from the cabin. He caught her glance and said, "I have to see to the crew."

She nodded mutely as he passed. There was awe on her face, and it roiled his heart with a mixture of faith and dread.

* * *

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as the King asked, his voice still scratching, "Is Daenerys still aboard?"

"She is. Being as we're two days out of port."

"I've lost track."

"Hypothermia will do that."

He pushed himself up against the bolsters, and started to un-bury himself from layers of coverings. "I'd like to speak with her again, if she'll see me." He stood unsteadily, and Davos held an arm out to support him.

"Oh, I expect she will."

He helped him to dress, and the King said, reluctantly, "And I have something to discuss with you, later. I...did something. You're not going to like it."

Davos sighed. "It's not my job to like it, Your Grace."

"Davos," he said, with that smile that always seemed surprised to find itself on his face. "You don't have to call me 'Your Grace' when it's just us."

He thought about it, and then said, "I suppose I haven't spent enough time with the Free Folk." Before leaving the cabin he turned. "You had us all worried, you know. A small request, if I may?"

"Anything in my power to do for you, you'll have it."

"Good." He swallowed, then stood straight and spoke sternly. "Then I'd ask that you don't let me outlive you a second time."

Jon Snow looked him in the eye, a damn fool boy and a king, and more than both. "That may not be in my power," he said. "But I'll try."

And the ship, as ships do, sailed on.


End file.
